Sunday, April 15, 2012

My Daughter Puts Me in My Place, And Willie Stops By.

I still have not been to bed yet. However, I have noticed a schedule of sorts in teething hell. Hourly, I think.

1. Rebel screams like a freak, rips my hair out, claws and punches me in the face for the first 15 minutes.
2. I put her in the swing with magic cancer sweater as she screams with delight for the next 15.
3. I pin her down on the bed as I shove teething tablets in her mouth, which start foaming up everywhere, as she is spitting them out, snorting them up her nose, and rubbing them in her eyes for the next 15.
4. Half heartedly claws and punches a little more, and falls asleep for the next 15.


I have just figured out what it means to be a mother. As my daughter violently ripped fists full of my hair out, scratched half my face off, and gave me a black eye, never once did it occur to me to make her stop. I just thought, "I hope this makes her feel better".

Side note: Luckily she was in the swing for magic cancer sweater time, when Willie Nelson, our lovely neighbor, came by to meet me for the first time. I opened the door and he said:

"Hi. Is Steven here?"

"No. But his boss is. How may I help you."

"Listen. I really don't want to be your enemy."

All I could do was smile and nod. Smile and nod. Finally I had to let him know magic cancer sweater time was coming to an end, and it is was time to shove little white foaming pills in my child's mouth while she snorts and gags. Possibly go glue some of my hair back on when she falls asleep.

I'm pretty sure the police are on their way.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Proof I'm Not a Racist, and why Candy the Prostitute Should Always Carry a Gun.

We all know "neighborhood watch" groups are for douche bags with no life. Such as myself. With that said, I live in Los Angeles. I assure you, someone in my neighborhood will be shot tonight. Why watch for it? That is probably why I am not a member of one. Also, because I don't care about your house. I care about mine. If I'm watching your house, who is watching mine? Let's all just watch our own houses, shall we? Then if we are all watching our own house, we'll know which neighbor's duty it is to kill the kid walking down the street with the Skittles and black skin.

I realize I live in the big ole city, so unlike most other people, I have seen a stranger walking down the street at night. Even black ones. I think there are even strangers walking through my neighborhood right this very moment. Sometimes, that happens. Sometimes, people you don't know are seen in and around your neighborhood. Sometimes, their reasons for being several hundred feet or more from your home are suspect, but most of the time, they're just walking down the street, going somewhere. Say…their dad's girlfriend's house or something.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a problem. If you haven't already heard, or been following the CASE of the gun slingin, neighborhood watchin, trigger happy George Zimmerman and his victim aggressor, the seventeen year old Trevon Martin, who was seen by Zimmerman wielding a bag of Skittles and being black, please do click on the link and take a look. Has anyone spotted the problem yet? No? Allow me to explain.

So, what exactly IS our problem here in the good ole US of A? A little something called "The Right to Bear Arms". I'm not talking about wearing tank tops folks, (though I do think there should be stricter laws on that too) I'm talking about guns. We LOVE our guns. And we LOVE our right to bear em. Now hold on…before the Texans reading this call TSA and blacklist me from my visit in a few weeks, hear me out.

Do I believe we should be allowed to own guns as civilians? Yes, I do. I believe in your home, or shall we say dwelling, you should be able to have a gun. Should anyone break, walk, run, or otherwise enter your house in any way that is menacing, feel free to blow their head off.

If you work the night shift at the local 7-11, and someone walks in for a Slurpee, your money, and perhaps your life, by all means, please feel free to put a few bullets in em.

If your name is Candy, and your down on your luck with kids to feed and a crack habit, I don't know if it is smart for you to have a gun, but I would recommend having one when getting in the car with strange men. After all, serial killers DO love em some prostitutes.

Fun fact: While enforcing stricter gun laws would probably benefit our nation greatly, it would indeed not greatly affect your chances of being killed by a serial killer. Guns are not often their weapon of choice. They like to get up close and personal. Stab you, strangle you, something like that. So we won't use serial killers in our argument for stricter gun laws.

However, we will use Mr. George Zimmerman as an example.

I'm a reader. I LOVE to read. I love to read non-fiction. Mostly about criminals and serial killers. Mostly serial killers. I know it sounds weird, but it is very interesting to learn the similarities and differences between killers. Their childhood, profession, social life, etc. The similarities are astounding, but not surprising. For example, if your kid is a little over zealous with the matches, likes to kill the neighborhood cats, and wet the bed till he was 14, he most likely is going to be a serial killer. And, most likely it is your fault. Here I go again, talking about serial killers. I Love the subject. I could talk about it for hours. I swear I would have been a detective or something, if you didn't first have to be a police officer.

Wait, what? A police officer? DING DING DING. Someone gets a prize if they connected the dots on this one.

I'm not calling George Zimmerman a serial killer. He probably isn't. However, a great number of serial killers, (ie: people who murder people) are wanna-be cops. They have cop buddies, scanners, perhaps they even applied to the academy and were denied for some reason or another. What does this have to do with George Zimmerman? Well…

What was he doing the night Treyvon Martin was walking down the street with his skittles in hand (or pocket)? He was "patrolling" his neighborhood, on a volunteer basis, in his SUV, looking for suspicious characters. WITH A GUN. He called 911, just as any good citizen should, and was told not to pursue, that the police were on their way. He ignored the 911 officer and pursued Treyvon Martin anyway. Does anyone get where I'm going with this?

In my opinion, this case should end here. Anything that happened after the 911 officer told Zimmerman not to pursue, and he did it anyway, is his own fucking fault. If the kid did indeed punch him, he got what he deserved. I can hardly believe that is the case though.

George Zimmerman had a case of the "I wanna be a cop" syndrome. He had it bad. So bad, that he committed a good amount of his time, unpaid, to patrol his neighborhood. What a great guy, right? Not so much. More like, what a guy that should not be allowed to have a gun outside of his dwelling.

George Zimmerman IS the reason for tougher gun laws. Johnny down at the local florist, probably has little reason for packing heat, when his nine to fiver involves arranging roses. Johnny needs to give a good reason to conceal a deadly weapon. Just like anyone else that is requesting to carry a concealed firearm outside of their home. If Johnny can't come up with a GOOD reason, he should be required to keep his weapon at home. Why was Zimmerman carrying a weapon that night? I know that if I was ever douche enough to do a neighborhood watch, I sure as hell wouldn't pursue some six foot plus stranger walking down the street. I would, as most, call 911, and give myself a pat on the back as the cops arrived. Or, feel like an asshole when the kid had a reason for being there. I sure wouldn't pursue him with a gun, unless, perhaps I was feeling a little more like "Officer Zimmerman" that night, then I did "Volunteer neighborhood watch weirdo carrying a concealed weapon, George Zimmerman".

Do I believe Treyvon Martin pursued George Zimmerman in any way, prompting Zimmerman to shoot him out of self-defensive? Absolutely not. Do I believe George Zimmerman is protected under this bull shit "Stand Your Ground" law that is kind of like self-defense, but requires less evidence? I do not. I think he was looking for trouble and when he didn't find it, he created it. Was Treyvon a sweet little angel faced, straight A student? I don't know. Probably not. Was he a thug? I don't know. Probably not. Did he have a reason to be where he was, doing what he was doing that night. Yes, he did.

Zimmerman does most likely have some sort of mental disorder. He probably imagined "saving" the neighborhood many times before. He had dreamed of this day. The local hero. Officer Zimmerman. Oooppss…I mean George Zimmerman. This man is guilty as the day is long. He felt like playing a little game of cops and robbers, and now a seventeen year old kid is dead.

He should be held accountable.

This proves I'm not a racist, right?

Mr. Rogers is NOT Our Neighbor.

Oh man. Am I in a state this morning or what? Luckily I have Smiley Cyrus (my nickname for Rebel when she smiles) laying next to me, to keep me from flying into a rage.

So if you don't already know, we moved into a new apartment. It is pretty much perfect. Or so I thought. 

I think I already mentioned how I was scolded by the mail lady for not checking my mail everyday. Apparently that is "what we do in this building". I was slightly peeved at her finger wagging, but last night my neighbor took it to a new level. Or rather, his bitch wife did. 

I didn't mention that a week or so ago, the neighbor came and knocked on our door, and asked us to be quiet or something to that effect. I honestly don't remember. Too many Clonapin or something. I didn't talk to him, Steven did. I didn't really think it was that big of a deal, and pretty much forgot about it until last night. 

It was around midnight and Steven was playing with Rebel on the bed. Yes, I said midnight. (we will get to that in a minute) He was attempting to distract, then remove this huge booger that was blocking her entire little nostril. I had tried like twice during the day, but I can't stand when she screams bloody murder, so I was saving it for Steven. He is the resident booger picker anyway. He normally can get them pretty quickly, but we both had tried several times and had to stop because she was screaming so loudly and throwing punches left and right. His distractions were failing, so we resorted to pinning her down. Still, she was too Ninja for us. Finally we gave up. The booger must remain. 

Shortly after admitting defeat, there is a knock at the door. We both look at each other. I don't know what Steven thought, but I was sure it was CPS, removing Rebel because of our aggressive booger picking tactics. 

"Should we answer the door?", Steven asks. "I don't fucking know. See who it is." Steven opens the front door and apparently it was our neighbor. The same neighbor who was sent over by his wife to complain previously. Steven said he looks like Willie Nelson or something, but is really nice. He said "I know you have a baby and all, but my wife…she can't sleep…and she made me come over here because the baby was screaming. Is there anything you can do to quiet her down? It is past midnight. Shouldn't she be asleep already?"


Now, anyone that knows me, knows I play the defensive asshole, never the apologetic understanding type. That is why Steven answered the door in the first place. I don't know exactly what he said, but he was apologizing, saying we would try and keep her quiet, blah blah blah. Now, I would say she was screaming for a total of a minute and a half. Trust me, that is plenty, but still nothing to go knocking on your neighbor's door about. Whatever. They are old and annoying, and they can take it up with the landlord about his cheap-ass thin walls. Then, I totally lost my mind.

That guy just said "It is past midnight. Shouldn't she be asleep already?" Normally that wouldn't even cross my mind.  I don't know, should she? Is that some sort of rule? Did I miss the memo? Are we awful parents? Is his wife a child psychologist, who knows that having your infant up past midnight is damaging to their mental health? All these things started running through my mind. Then I started googling. OH MY GOD. 

After reading around 7,000 parenting websites, blogs, and governmental recommendations, I was totally freakin out. Everyone keeps talking about "schedules". Get your baby on a schedule. Schedule your baby's naps. Schedule your baby's feedings. Schedule your baby's shits. Get your baby a Blackberry and schedule their schedule's schedule. Whoopsies.

Rebel has no "schedule". She eats when she is hungry. She sleeps when she is tired. Craps when she wants. I guess you could say…she is allowed to be a person. I thought that was how it worked. She just turned four months old. She is a freakin baby. I had planned to give her a hot minute to be in this world before I gave her a datebook. I guess I was wrong. As I kept on reading, I was thinking, "We might have fucked up big time." 

One lady complained "My son is three and a half weeks old, and he isn't on a schedule yet. So frustrating. He wakes me up twice a night. What should I do?" For the first three and a half weeks of Rebel's life, I SLEPT twice a night. For about 30 minutes each time. Another said, "My daughter is 8 weeks old and sleeps through the night. Once we got her on a schedule, she just started sleeping through the night on her own." Whoa, now. It sounds like they're talking about magic, not schedules. The complaints and congrats go on and on. One lady talks about letting her 2 month old cry for an hour and a half, alone in his nursery, and somehow that got him on a schedule. Several said that getting them on a schedule is a "must". (side note: must is a weird word) 

Then is dawned on me. Schedules ARE important. FOR PARENTS. So parents can sleep, work, function, etc. I am fortunate enough to be able to stay at home with my baby. In order to do that, her father works late, most of the time not getting home until nine or ten at night. That is after working for 12 or so hours. So if I put her on a "schedule", she would be in bed every night when he got home, and he would never see her. And I would be bored out of my mind. Every apartment in this building would be Shabby Chic'd all to hell. 

I literally have nothing to do but cater to her needs. I don't do Pilates, I don't sew, or have a social life. I just hang out with her. Not because I have to, because I want to. If you think I'm all liberal, hippie mom, then so be it. We don't even have the crib set up. Never have. People seem to be horrified by this. YES, SHE SLEEPS WITH ME. There I said. We tried the bassinet, but she won't sleep in it. She sleeps on my chest, with her face an inch from mine, so that I can hear her breathe. No one can roll over her, and she can't smother. This works for us. Would I ever allow Steven to sleep with her like that? Absolutely not. He tosses and turns all night. I don't move an inch. And yes, she will probably still be between us when she is two. Get over it. 

In this house, we order take-out every night. We paint random walls and doors with chalkboard paint whenever we feel like it. We sleep when we are tired, and eat when we are hungry. We co-sleep. We use organic everything on our baby, but load our own bodies with chemicals everyday. Rebel has the big closet full of clothes. We have the small one. We forcefully remove boogers at midnight so our child can breathe. (Steven uses "the snot sucker" on her. If you don't know what that is, it is where you suck the snot of your kids nose with your mouth. There is this filter little thing, but I still have not been able to bring myself to do it. I don't even think Steven has a filter on there.) Nothing we do makes sense, yet it works for us. We know this because Smiley Cyrus is happy and healthy. So please, the next time you feel the need to come knocking on my door asking me why my child isn't asleep at midnight, you better think twice Willie Nelson. The third time around Steven won't be answering the door. 

**There is a happy ending to this story. About 5 minutes after Willie left, Steven had Rebel sitting on the bed, facing away from him, and she was looking at me make faces out her and giggling, and he ninja'd his way into her nose and picked the booger so fast she didn't have time to cry. She looked stunned for about 2 seconds, and then went back to being Smiley Cyrus. 

Friday, April 13, 2012

Bits of Wisdom I Hope to Impart to My Daughter

Bits of Wisdom I Hope to Impart to My Daughter:

1. All men are full of shit. Find the one that is the least full of shit and pick him.
2. Don't dress like a whore. If you're showing your legs, cover your boobs. If you're showing your boobs, cover your legs. (Not literally showing your boobs of course.)
3. We live and die Dallas Cowboys. Be prepared for disappointment, but be forever loyal.
4. I promise to openly accept you, whatever you may be. Gay, straight, bi, forward, backward, alien, etc. But please don't be a serial killer. Or a stripper. That one's on your dad though. In the words of Chris Rock "You know you fucked up as a father if your daughter's on the pole".
5. You don't have to "be ladylike" or "act like a lady". Be appropriate. There is a time for cursing like a sailor and it is not at your boyfriend's grandma's dinner table. There is a time for spitting, farting, and burping. It has to do with being a human, not a lady. Learn to judge accordingly.
6. If someone tells you that only inner beauty matters, that is total crap. You will constantly be judged on your outer beauty. Give yourself time. When you find yourself staring at an awkward teen with ears that stick out and horrible teeth, take comfort in the fact that you will grow into your ears, and we promise to get you braces. I was fairly unfortunate, and not a single boy was interested in me in high school. I lived through it. You will too.
7. Learn what "don't bullshit a bullshitter means". You're going to hear it a lot.
8. If you ask your father a question the answer will always be "Go ask your mother." Always.
10. Be nice to everyone,especially the weirdos. You don't want trench coat boy looking for you when he storms the lunchroom with an AK-47.
11. Always say please and thank you.
12. If you go out on a first date with a guy and he doesn't pay, don't ever go out with him again. He is a cheap asshole. (If you're a lesbian I'm not sure what to tell you. Flip a coin?)
13. You can do anything a man can do. And should. But it is always acceptable to ask your Daddy to do it for you.
14. Be extra nice to your godfather Avi Gandhi. He is paying your college tuition.
15. Learn the rules of making fun of people. Don't make fun of someone for something they can't help. Wearing Ed Hardy is open season. You get the idea.
16. Getting drunk can be fun, but it almost always leads to someone doing something really stupid. Everything in moderation my dear.
17. When people constantly ask you about your name, feel free to say "because my parents are assholes". We're okay with that.
18. I am a horrible dancer with no coordination. Your father is the opposite. Sorry in advance.
19. In fifth grade, I threw my lunch tray at a girl twice my size. I don't know what I would have done if she had taken it further. Make sure you can finish shit if you're going to start shit.
20. I'll bail you out of jail, no questions asked. ONCE. ONLY ONCE.

10 Things I Probably Shouldn't Say Out Loud. (Or Blog About)

1. I can sympathize with being pregnant, but Jessica Simpson is fucking huge. She looks like she is having 4 adults. Girlfriend ain't never gonna be the same.
2. Most people only wash their hands after leaving a public restroom because they fear judgement from other restroom goers.
3. I had a sex dream about Barack Obama like two weeks ago.
4. The mail lady came to my door the other day and was like "In this building, we check our mail everyday." Okay so I didn't say it out loud, but I'm thinking "Bitch, do you live here? I pay for this apartment so I can check the mail whenever I fuckin feel like it." Of course I went and checked the mail right away because I didn't want her throwing away my "O Magazine" or anything. There was one piece of mail, and it wasn't even for me. Why she be trippin? Great. I've already been labeled "the tardy mail checker" in the building. If I see her again Ima let her know.
5. Steven and I spent over $900 on eating out last month. Actually, eating in. I'm a terrible house-wife.
6. I actually giggle with excitement when I think about reading all the pissed off facebook posts about Obama's reelection. Gas prices is gonna be like $100 a gallon ya'll!!
7. I don't like dogs. Partly because I'm severely allergic, and partly because they smell, and they slobber on you and are like in your business. They always smell gross. No matter what.
8. When I see someone that doesn't have either a Blackberry or an IPhone, I'm like "Ewww…what's that??!!"
9. Steven and I spent the entire car ride to the Bay for Thanksgiving making up "Sandusky" jokes. TOO SOON.
10. I really feel sorry for Margo Lang. I hope she can get some public assistance or something.

I'm a Blogger Ya'll...

Since like four of you find me entertaining, or idiotic, or a combination of the both, I did indeed start a blog. It is going to be about random shit. And I probably will say the word "shit" a lot. If you find that offensive you might want to follow some other bored, stay at home mom. I'll probably talk about how stupid I think Republicans are too. Maybe a bit about my baby's daddy. A line or two about trailer parks. My love for the gays. How cool my friends are. My current decorating obsession. I will make fun of celebrities all the time. But mostly I will be talking about how sad it is that Margo Lang is going to be poor for the rest of her life. She received the news today. Sad, sad story. Okay, let's get this shit started.

Sweden has gone a bit cray cray. READ HERE to learn about Sweden's implementation of gender-neutral pre-schools. The teachers refer to the children as "buddies" instead of "boys"or "girls". They have even added a gender-neutral pronoun to their encyclopedia. "Hen". BTW...If you read the comments, tons of people think they are referring to a female chicken. "Hen" is a Swedish word you idiots.

I'm pretty fucking liberal, but I still want to be a girl. I think women are superior to men, so why would I want to be brought down to their level?

Okay, so I ain't no psychologicator, but I do understand that we start enforcing gender stereotypes at birth. Or before. Blue for boys, pink for girls. Dolls for girls, trucks for boys. Shit like that. Do I think that is wrong? I don't know…? I know that if my daughter, Rebel, goes to the store and picks out a truck instead of a Barbie, it wouldn't matter to me. "That shit better be on clearance though."(That is something my baby's daddy would say) So, do I think making her put back the truck and get a Barbie is wrong? Yes. I think forcing a certain toy or item of clothing on a child because it is more fitting to their gender then their preference, is a total Republican dick move. They probably think there is some Bible verse about children's toys. "Thou shalt not let thy son play with thy Barbie". (That is in the New Testament I think.)

Fun fact: In the 1800's blue was for girls, and pink was for boys. Figure that shit out.

While I agree with Sweden on the need to enforce gender equality, there is no denying the differences between boys and girls. Especially physically. What happens when the children that go to these "gender-neutral" pre-schools start going to elementary school? They aren't going to know if they are a boy or girl, then everyone is going to be pulling their pants down to compare. It will be a hot mess. I think you can teach equality, without denying reality.

If this question ever arises with Rebel, I will simply say "You can have a baby if you want to. And you're less dumb." There ya go. The difference between a boy and a girl. I'm sure the Swedes can come up with a program that enforces gender equality in a less weird ass way.

With all of that said, I've actually been to Sweden. I have this cute plaid button up I bought there. They aren't super weird or anything. Their food is kind of gross and comes in tubes, but besides that, I don't have anything bad to say about them. They have an Ice bar there. And a big wooden ship. I can't really remember much else. Oh…it was cold.

Too bad Margo Lang wasn't born in Sweden. Then maybe she wouldn't have to use her boobs to get my daughter out of jail.